


Children of Krypton #5

by Vigs



Series: One Multiverse Over [11]
Category: DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kryptonite, Robot Fights, Some philosophical sci fi stuff, an OC who got kind of out of hand, is not fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vigs/pseuds/Vigs
Summary: Using technology he got from Brainiac, Lex has created a new opponent for Superman, one unlike anything he's ever faced. But what's happened to John Corben, the man inside the machine?





	1. Clark

“Well, look who’s decided to grace us with his presence,” Lois said when Clark walked into the office a good fifteen minutes late.

“Hi,” he said sheepishly. Kara’s powers were nearly at full strength, but somehow their improvement had gotten irregular, happening in fits and starts. He’d had to go out to the farm that morning when she woke up and discovered that she couldn’t turn off her “x-ray” vision, to the point that about all she could see was the planet underneath her. Talking her through getting back to normal vision hadn’t taken too long, all things, considered, but it still made him late for work. “Did I miss anything important?”

“You’re  _ going _ to miss your job, once you get fired,” she said. “You must’ve burned through all your sick days and half your vacation time for the year already, and it’s only May.”

“I’m still hitting my deadlines!” he protested.

“Obviously, otherwise you’d  _ already _ be fired,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But when’s the last time you pitched a story instead of just taking whatever Perry gave you? Seriously, Kent, you’re slipping. What’s wrong with you?”

He was pretty sure that was more or less an honest expression of concern, coming from her.

“Long story,” he said. “Tell you at lunch?” That should give him enough time to come up with something plausible. Assuming he wasn’t called away by Kara or a disaster by then, of course.

“Fine, but if it’s going to be a scheduled gossip session, you’re listening to me bitch about my problems too,” she warned him.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d let anything stay a problem for long enough to need to talk about it,” he said honestly kind of surprised. “Don’t you just solve all your problems with sarcasm and brilliance and, I don’t know, kung fu?”

“I do  _ tai chi _ , Kent,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And yes, usually I deal with my problems with ruthless efficiency, obviously. But some of them—well, I’ll tell you at lunch. Get to work, I don’t want to have to break in whoever Perry’s going to replace you with when you’re fired.”

Clark got to work. What Lois had said was true; he hadn’t pitched anything in too long. He was doing a lot of stories about politics, especially the boring stuff that their usual political writers didn’t feel like covering, and analysis and reactions to AP stories. Not much real investigation aside from phone calls.

Well, when Kara was ready, she could help him out with his Superman work and he’d have more time and energy to devote to the  _ Planet _ . Until then, he’d have to just keep on keeping on.

The morning was blessedly emergency-free. He and Lois grabbed a table in the breakroom, him with a ham sandwich, her with her habitual protein shake.

“Okay, Kent, dish,” Lois commanded.

“It’s my cousin,” he said. Best to stick with as much honesty as he could. “Ma’s never had anything good to say about her side of the family; I haven’t seen any of them since I was little. But this kid cousin I never even really knew I had found my contact information and asked me to help her get out of Star City. She was being treated really badly, and they were threatening to kick her out. So I got her out to Smallville, and she’s staying with my folks now. I’m doing everything I can to help out from here, but it’s hard. She’s just a teenager, and I’m pretty sure she has PTSD, and Ma and Pa can’t keep up with her at their age. So yeah. That’s why I haven’t been on my game.”

“Oh my God,” Lois said, looking shocked. “I’m so sorry, Clark. That must be so hard.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s good, though. Like I said, I got her out. And she’s doing better every day. We got her to open up about some of the stuff she’d been through, finally. She’s actually happy sometimes.”

“Good.” Lois took a long sip of her protein drink. “Okay, you win. My problem seems kind of petty compared to all that.”

“Hey, we made a deal,” Clark said. “What’s up?”

“Superman,” she said with a frustrated sigh. For a second he thought she was addressing him and almost panicked. Then he realized she was saying he was the problem, and felt horribly guilty.

“What about him?” he prompted.

“I guess we’re friends now?” she said. “Sort of, anyway. We hang out sometimes. I’m actually getting to know him as, you know, a person. And that’s great! That’s exactly what I’ve wanted for ages, but…”

“But?” He didn’t think he could handle it if she told him that she wasn’t sure she was into Superman anymore now that she knew he wasn’t… set up with the standard equipment.

“I  _ know _ he’s attracted to me. I mean, I can tell when someone’s attracted to me.” She paused, giving him an amused look almost certainly intended to convey that she knew  _ he _ was attracted to her. He shrugged, and smiled a little. Guilty as charged. “But he won’t  _ do _ anything about it. Or let me do anything about it. It’s got to have something to do with the fact that I’m human. I don’t know, maybe he thinks the whole interspecies thing would be gross. I guess a lot of people would.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t be able to, you know, do anything without hurting you,” Clark suggested.

“He interacts with humans all the time without hurting them,” she said. “Maybe we’d have to get creative, but I am  _ all about _ creativity. There’s gotta be  _ something  _ we can do. I doubt I’d explode if he kissed me, or something.”

Clark was pretty sure  _ he _ might explode if he kissed her.

“Maybe he had a wife on Krypton,” he suggested. It seemed like something that someone who didn’t know he’d come to Earth as a baby, or that Kryptonians didn’t do marriage or gender, would suggest. “He could be, you know, torn about moving on.”

“He’s been here for  _ ages _ now, though,” Lois said. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining that he’s attracted to me.”

“Impossible,” Clark said, possibly too quickly. He backpedaled. “Well, unless Kryptonian beauty standards were completely different. Maybe the hottest Kryptonian women were, I don’t know, eight feet tall and bald.”

Lois laughed.

“Maybe I’ll ask him,” she said. “I bet he’d make an interesting face. I don’t know, maybe Kryptonian courtships were decades long and he thinks we’re moving too fast.”

“Maybe Kryptonian women ate their mates like praying mantises,” Clark suggested.

“And what, he’s scared? I couldn’t eat him. He’s Superman,” Lois pointed out. “I’d break my teeth.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Clark said, warming to the idea. He usually didn’t like hearing people talk about Superman like he was some mysterious alien creature, but it felt different this time. Probably because he knew that Lois knew everything they were saying was false. She was just playing along, not actually speculating. “Maybe he just can’t stand the idea of being with someone who wouldn’t be able to bite his head off. Literally, I mean. Obviously you’re a champion metaphorical head-biter.”

Lois laughed.

“I’ll have to ask him next time I see him,” she said. She took a last slurp of her protein shake and stood up. “Anyway, back to work for me. Later, Smallville.”

“Bye,” Clark said.

He determinedly kept his face from showing the goofy grin that wanted to form there. It hadn’t really been intentional, but he thought he might’ve subconsciously thrown out all those suggestions about “Kryptonian women” to see if Lois would tell him that there wasn’t any such thing.

She hadn’t. She hadn’t… could he say “outed”? He wasn’t exactly trans, or any of the other letters in LGBT, and he wouldn’t want to be appropriative, but maybe he fit under “queer” as an umbrella term? Was “outing” exclusive to the queer community? He was pretty sure some people used it to talk about other things, but precision of language was important and—

He was overthinking this. She hadn’t outed him. It felt good.


	2. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Medical procedures going wrong, Lex being a terrible, abusive person
> 
> This chapter references events from Children of Krypton #3, particularly chapters 7 and 9. If anything seems confusing or out of nowhere, it's probably from there.

Generally, Mercy wasn’t jealous of anyone who was lying on an operating table in Lex’s lab. Far from it. Lex liked to “beta test” new developments—chemicals, cyberware, weapons—on people who had worked for him (off the books, of course) and then failed him egregiously. He had pretty reasonable standards for what constituted “egregious” failure, especially when Superman got involved. Most of his “beta testers” were people who’d threatened to turn on him or tried to blackmail him. That was kind of a “zero tolerance” thing.

Corben, the man currently on the table, had not failed Lex. He was one of Lex’s best wetwork operatives, and just a few months ago he’d managed to keep Superman out of an operation with a combination of saline solution and  _ whistling _ .

Which was why he was the one getting a robot body and not her. Mercy ground her teeth—a perfectly dentally safe thing to do, since each tooth had been coated in a thin layer of a ceramic Lex had developed, in case she ever needed to bite through rope, or a throat, or her own left wrist. There was a half-finished design for a completely new jaw for her on one of his many whiteboards. When he got stuck on something else, sometimes he’d work on more upgrades for her, just as something to do while the more  _ important _ things percolated in the back of his mind.

A lot of people wondered why she was so loyal to Lex, why she’d put her life on the line for him so readily. Some people assumed she was in love with him, which was sort of hilarious. As his bodyguard, she spent more time around him than anyone; she knew what an asshole he was.

The important thing was that Lex Luthor was the only man in the world who could give her what she truly craved—improvement. Her right arm and her left leg were both almost entirely artificial, skin stretched over metal and plastic, circuitry and tiny gears and pistons and  _ strength _ and  _ power _ . She was Lex’s secret weapon—even Superman didn’t realize, just because he was too polite to go peeping under people’s skin.

Lex had promised her an upgraded eye next. There was always something he’d promised her next. Mercy knew he liked the power it gave him over her. He’d taunt her with it when they fucked, make her beg him to cut her up and put her back together. She didn’t particularly mind; it wasn’t like he was bad-looking, or bad in the sack.

Lex was fucked up. Mercy probably knew that better than anyone. She’d stood guard outside his bedroom while he fucked plenty of other people, and he made all of them beg. If he was with them as part of some bigger scheme, it’d be relatively normal stuff: “beg for my cock,” “beg me to let you come,” that kind of thing. But if he was just having fun, it was always something specific and important to the person he was with, something they desperately needed from him. He liked having people in his power—real power, not negotiated or temporary or consensual. He got off on it.

She didn’t particularly care. Lex was the only person in the world with the knowledge and resources to give her what she wanted, so she was loyal to Lex.

Except now he was giving what she wanted to  _ Corben _ , not to her. She had to be careful not to bite the inside of her mouth while she ground her teeth. With that coating on them, she’d draw serious blood.

“You’re sure I’ll be able to transfer back into my human body?” Corben asked one last time before they put him under. “Flesh has its advantages, you know.”

He leered at her slightly when he said that, presumably to make the point that one of the advantages was sex. There was no reason he’d know that he was being given everything she wanted. God, she hated him.

“Completely,” Lex said. Mercy knew he wasn’t nearly as confident on that point as he was acting. There was a long list of potential failure states somewhere Corben couldn’t see them. The most likely was that the consciousness transfer would simply fail, leaving the robot body inert, but it could also destroy his mind, or duplicate it, leaving them with independent robot and human Corbens. (It was a long list because Lex saw several subtypes of each of these failure states, and had made notes on what each would mean and how the procedure would need to be adjusted moving forward.)

“And the wire transfer—”

“Has already been made. Haven’t I always rewarded you well in the past, Mr. Corben?” Lex was at about his fourth-smarmiest at the moment. Cataloging degrees of Lex-smarm was one of the ways she entertained herself while she was guarding him at boring business or political meetings. “I know the value of your skills.”

“Alright.” Corben took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

Lex nodded to the anesthesiologist, who injected a sedative into the IV line already attached to the man’s arm, and Corben was quickly unconscious. Lex wasn’t especially interested in biology, so he had a whole team of doctors on payroll who could be persuaded to be hypocrites about the Hippocratic Oath. Several of them were in the room now, tasked with making sure Corben’s body stayed alive once his mind had vacated it.

The Metallo body was on the other table. It was sleek, deadly, and beautiful, with the largest single piece of Kryptonite ever recovered at its heart. It was a weapon, and nobody designed weapons like Lex did. He practically made it an art form.

Mercy wanted to be it so badly it hurt. Lex glanced at her, clearly aware of what she was thinking, but she stayed impassive, and he smirked.

The brain-scanning machine, modified from the schematics Brainiac had provided, was wheeled over once Corben was unconscious and hooked up to life support machinery—lots of it, since even Lex wasn’t sure how well the body could keep itself going with the mind gone. Lex only ever worked on the brain scanner in this room, essentially a lead-lined Faraday cage, ostensibly to keep Superman from seeing it but really to keep Brainiac from realizing that he was long past merely understanding and duplicating the provided design.

Sometimes he’d tell Mercy about his schemes, just to hear himself talk. They were always grandiose and overly complicated, but this whole thing with Brainiac was on a whole other level.

Once it was hooked up to Corben and the Metallo body, Lex activated the machine. The team of doctors around Corben and the engineer by Metallo were both hard at work, calling out readings and adjustments that Mercy more-or-less tuned out. It was the sound of everything going right, she could tell that; the details were less important.

And then it wasn’t.

“Um. Mr. Luthor?” the engineer said. That was definitely a “you’re a mad scientist and I’m a flunky, something is going wrong, please don’t kill me” voice.

“What is it?” Lex snapped.

“Look,” the engineer said, pointing.

The chunk of Kryptonite in Metallo’s chest was glowing green. Mercy had spent enough time around Kryptonite to know it did not normally do that.

“What the hell?” Lex said. He grabbed a device that looked like complicated binoculars—Mercy was pretty sure they were for seeing “paralight”—and looked at Metallo through those.

“Mr. Luthor!” one of the doctors called. “His temperature is climbing fast. There’s no clear reason for it.”

“What?” Lex whirled on them, then held up the paralight binocular things again. “Mercy, take a note—he’s glowing in paralight.”

Dutifully, she took a note.

“We should stop,” one of the doctors said, clearly with no expectation of being listened to. Lex ignored him.

“Keep him alive,” Lex ordered. “I don’t care how. How are things on the Metallo side? Aside from the glow.”

“Readings are as expected,” the engineer said. He was clearly having trouble keeping his eyes off that glowing crystal. Being around Kryptonite felt unsettling even at normal times, a prickle at the back of the neck and a shiver down the spine that she’d gotten used to. Mercy could always tell when Lex had some on him, just from the feel of it. It made it harder to do her job; she was used to being able to trust her gut, but when there was Kryptonite around, it always felt like something was horribly wrong.

(She knew most other people felt it, too. STAR Labs had tested it, and Lex’s mole there had dutifully reported the effect. Lex himself claimed to feel nothing from it. She wasn’t sure whether he was lying or not.)

“So we keep going,” Lex said.

The doctors were running around, grabbing ice and putting it against Corben’s head and torso. His skin was red, and Mercy thought he was almost starting to glow with visible light too.

“Transfer 90% complete,” the engineer reported.

“We can’t keep his temperature down enough,” one of the doctors said. “He’s cooking from the inside out. He may already have permanent brain damage.”

There was a smell like roasting pork in the air. Usually when people were dying of heat it was a more smoky smell, since generally fire was involved. Mercy had gotten over being disgusted by the fact that it smelled good a long time ago.

“Good thing 90% of his mind is already elsewhere, then,” Lex said. “Keep going.”

As soon as the engineer pronounced the transfer complete, the glow from the Kryptonite went out.

“What’s Corben’s body’s status?” Lex asked. “Mercy, note that the paralight glow on both sides ceased simultaneously.”

“Mr. Luthor, we can’t bring him back from this,” the most senior doctor said calmly. He’d been on staff long enough to know Lex wasn’t going to fire (or murder) anyone over an unexpected result from an experimental procedure like this. “He’s medium-rare at this point.”

“Interesting,” Lex said. “Get the body out of here and prepare it for immediate autopsy. What’s Metallo’s status?”

“Readings are all as projected,” the engineer said. Mercy wondered if it was the death or the Kryptonite that had the man sweating. “Theoretically, once we turn the failsafes off, Corben’s personality should take over.”

“Hold off on that,” Lex instructed. “I think we’re going to have to modify the plan a bit.”


	3. John

John didn’t open his eyes. Consciousness and sight returned to him all at once, with no eyelids involved. He didn’t seem to  _ have _ eyelids, in fact.

“It worked, then?” he asked. His voice sounded strange, like listening to a recording of himself.

“There were some complications,” Luthor said. John realized he could pinpoint exactly where the man was in relation to himself just from hearing that one sentence, even though he was behind him and out of view. “Your human body needs more intensive care than we expected while your mind is in Metallo. It’s being transported to a secure medical facility as we speak.”

“Transported?” John sat up. That was also a strange sensation, just a bending of the spine—or whatever the equivalent part of Metallo was—without any kind of muscular contraction. “Then how am I supposed to get back into it?”

“By the time it’s in place, there’ll be a dedicated data line ready to transmit your mind back and forth,” Luthor said soothingly. He came into John’s line of sight at that point, and John found that his vision was automatically highlighting vulnerable points and vital organs on the man’s body.

“Unacceptable,” he said. “What if the transmission is interrupted?”

“It won’t be,” Luthor said. “I’ve invested quite a lot into you at this point, Corben. At least trust me to protect that investment.”

Well, he’d realized when he agreed to this that he’d be putting himself in Luthor’s power. He would just have to hope that this robot body was worth it.

"Well, what's the plan, then?" he asked. "I assume you have some sort of test set up for me.”

"Superman is the test," Luthor said. "What you need just now is some practice."

Despite Luthor’s words, there was a battery of testing equipment set up for him, to test the capabilities of his new body and how well he was adjusting to it. It wasn't too different from physical therapy, and he'd been through that more than a few times; doing his job without actually dying was impressive enough. Doing it without even being injured would have been impossible.

The Metallo body was... strange. On the one hand, it was amazingly, gloriously powerful; he could run and jump and crush things with his bare hands on a level he wouldn't have been able to imagine before. He could feel something coming from the chunk of Kryptonite in his chest, too, some sort of potential that Luthor hadn't accounted for. He felt like he was full of murder, like he could kill someone with just a thought if he wanted to. He was full of more power than he ever could have imagined. And he felt perfectly integrated with the Metallo body; there was no sense of division between him and it, not like he was wearing power armor or remotely controlling it. It felt like him.

On the other hand, though, powerful was the only thing he felt. He had sensors or something, but they just gave him data about the environment. It wasn't the same as really seeing or hearing or touching, although he would have been hard-pressed to explain exactly how it was different. Like the difference between hearing words and reading them, maybe; there was no timbre to his new senses, no possibility of enjoyment. He could sense the tiniest trace chemicals in the air, but he couldn't actually smell them.

"When can I go back into my real body?" he asked Luthor. He'd gone through a whole battery of tests, making sure the Metallo body was working up to spec and making sure he knew its capabilities. He was looking forward to trying them out against Superman, but first he wanted to make sure his body was actually intact.

"Not much longer now," Luthor said. "We're just making sure none of the data will be lost during the transfer. Wouldn't want to send you back into your body with only half of your consciousness, hm?"

"No, you wouldn't," Corben reminded him. "Because I'm one of your best operatives, remember?"

"Of course," Luthor said. "We're taking the utmost care, I promise you."

He had to wait for a while, but he couldn't really feel the passage of time any more than he could feel anything else. He could track every millisecond as it passed, but it was just more data. It was creepy, the way he wasn't getting bored; he was just sort of in standby. It was almost unbearably inhuman.

"Corben?" Luthor said. "We're ready to make the transfer.”

"Finally," he said. "Took you long enough."

Luthor led him to some sort of terminal, then opened up Corben's chest to attach a cable to a connector he had there.

"The transfer will take a little while, but you won't be conscious of the passage of time while it's happening," Luthor said confidently.

"Fine, whatever," Corben said. "Just let me get back in my body."

And then Luthor flipped a switch—

And then—

And then—

John opened his eyes. There was an extremely attractive green-eyed redhead in a labcoat leaning over him.

"Well, that's a sight for sore eyes," he said.

"Oh good, you're back with us," she said. "I'm Dr. Nelumbo. I've been taking care of you while you've been, ah, away. How are you feeling?"

He considered the question. He could wiggle his fingers and toes, he could see the doctor's face, he could smell... saltwater? And hear waves?

"I'm feeling excellent," he said. "Unless we're not actually near the ocean and this is some sort of 'smelling burnt toast' thing."

She smiled.

"This is one of Mr. Luthor's more remote safehouses," she said. "I believe the intention was that he could be brought here if he were ever seriously injured, so that he could recuperate in comfort. That's why we have all the medical equipment we need to take care of you."

"Where exactly are we?" he asked, sitting up. The room was very sterile-looking, with polished white walls and floor. There was just one bed, the one he was sitting on, and he had a lot of wires stuck to his head.

"A very small island in the Pacific," Dr. Nelumbo said, beginning to carefully detach the wires from his head. "I'm afraid it's just the two of us, but there's a PC with internet access, and the beach, and a fully equipped exercise room."

"And a kitchen, I hope?" He could feel her fingers against his scalp, really feel them.

"Yes, of course. You'll be fed by intubation if you're in the Metallo body for long, but while you're here, I can cook for you." She finished removing the wires on his head and moved on to removing the IV line from his hand and the pressure cuff from his arm. He'd barely noticed them.

"A doctor and a chef?" he asked. "Very impressive. And beautiful, too."

Dr. Nelumbo blushed a little, although her expression stayed professional. He liked that.

"I'm not a professional chef by any means, but I should be able to put together edible meals," she said.

"Actually, I'd rather do the cooking, if you don't mind," he said. "While I'm awake, at least. I'm fairly accomplished in the kitchen, not to brag."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize. With all the rush, there wasn't enough time for me to get a proper dossier on you, so..."

"Don't worry about it," he said magnanimously. "It's more important that you're keeping me alive than that you know everything about me. Although I suppose we'll have plenty of time to get to know one another, won't we?"

"I guess we will," she murmured, looking like she didn't know quite what to think of the idea.

"I'll go take a look at the kitchen, if you're done unhooking me from things," he said.

"Oh—yes, but be careful when you get up," she said. "You may experience some momentary dizziness."

He got up carefully, but there was no dizziness. He felt great.

"Do you have a favorite food?" he asked. "I can see if I can put it together, although I don't know what's available."

"Oh, don't worry about that," she said, blushing again. "This is a place for you to relax. You should make your own favorite food."

"Well, I do love shrimp scampi, but next time I'm making your favorite," he said firmly.

"Shrimp scampi  _ is _ my favorite," she said, her blush growing. It went down her neck and under the collar of her extremely professional clothing in a very intriguing way.

"A happy coincidence," he said. "Let's go see if there are shrimp in the kitchen."

"I need to send a report to Mr. Luthor," Dr. Nelumbo said, "but I'll join you in a bit. Please let me know if you feel any dizziness or discomfort."

"I certainly will," he said, and went to search for the kitchen.

It was impressively equipped and well-stocked, although all the food was either shelf-stable or frozen. Well, of course, if Luthor had planned for this to be his own hideaway he wouldn't have wanted to be deprived. Outside of the sterile medical chamber, the windows were open, and a cool breeze blew through the house. John wondered where exactly in the Pacific they were; somewhere warm but not too hot, surrounded by beautiful water without too many waves. It was like paradise.

Well, maybe this was just how it was on a good day. For all he knew, monsoon season would start tomorrow and they'd be stuck in the house while a hurricane raged outside. For now, though... well, he had to forgive Luthor for transporting his body somewhere without his permission when he'd sent him somewhere so perfect. And put him in such excellent care, for that matter. He wondered exactly how seriously Dr. Nelumbo took medical ethics. It would be fun to find out.

Power half the time, paradise the other half... he could definitely get used to this.


	4. Clark

Busy as he was, Clark had managed to get things into something of a routine. Time working for the Planet, time working for the, well, the actual planet (but mostly Metropolis), time with Kara, time with Lois... his speed was getting more of a workout than any of his other powers, it seemed like. Anyway, he had things under control.

Except of course he didn't, because whenever he thought that, there would be a natural disaster or an approaching meteor or a rampaging monster or something. This time, judging by the sheer number of screams coming from downtown, it seemed to be the third option. Damn; he'd just gotten into a groove with the article he was writing. Oh well. At least it was a nice day, the sun bright in the sky, the spring smells of growing plants coming from the city's parks, faint under the pollution and the people-smells but still there.

The "monster" turned out to be a humanoid robot, like something out of the Terminator movies. It was tossing cars around and scaring people, without any apparent goal. Clark caught one of the cars and put it down, turning the face the robot. Something—the strangeness of the situation, maybe, or the fact that he had looming deadlines that wouldn't get met if he was stuck in a car-tossing fight—was making him feel sick.

"What exactly are you doing?" he asked the robot. It was acting like some kind of mindless animal, but a robot would be built with a purpose, wouldn't it? Maybe it was malfunctioning.

"Trying to get your attention!" it replied. Its voice was strangely cheerful, and surprisingly familiar, like a recording of someone he knew. Where had he heard that voice before?

"Well, you've got it," Clark said, hovering out of reach with his arms crossed. "What now? Who are you?"

"You can call me Metallo," it said. "Lovely to meet you, Superman. I'm here to kill you."

"The whistling guy!" Clark realized, recognizing the voice at last. "With the saline solution! You're a robot?"

"Part-time," Metallo said, which didn't make any sense at all. "Now, are you going to come down here and fight me, or do I have to start killing people? I'd prefer to keep this from getting too messy, you know."

"Why do you want to fight me at all?" Clark asked, honestly confused.

"Come down here and find out," Metallo said. It—he?—was starting to sound impatient. Clark shrugged.

"It's your funeral, I guess," he said, and flew towards the robot, intending to rip off an arm. It probably couldn't do any damage if he removed its limbs, right? And that shouldn't kill it. Deactivate it. Whatever.

The closer he got to it, though, the sicker he felt. Not just physically sick, although that was definitely part of it; it was a black feeling of despair, like his heart was being pulled out of his chest. Pain and nausea and despair—

"Kryptonite!" he gasped, stopping his flight towards the robot. He was still a good five yards away or so, but it hurt. "You've got kryptonite!"

"Brilliant stuff, this," Metallo said smugly. "Keeps me running and keeps you away!"

Away. Yes. He needed to get away. Kryptonite always did this, slowing his thoughts and his reactions, making him feel like... there was really no comparison. Before he could act on his thought, Metallo leapt into the air and grabbed one of his legs, pulling him down to the ground.

"I've always wanted to see what this looked like," Metallo told him cheerfully as it pinned him to the ground. "Superman, powerless."

Metallo punched him in the face, but the pain of it barely stood out from the pain of the kryptonite, and something in the robot's hand crunched, breaking against Clark's face.

"Right," Metallo said, chagrined. "Not powerless. Just... what would you call it? Overcome?"

Clark didn't answer. He could hardly think, certainly couldn't move. There was a feeling in his mind like a wordless scream, agony and terror and despair too loud for any of his own thoughts to be heard over it. He'd never been this close to this much of it before. He wanted to vomit, or sob, or better yet escape, but every inch of him hurt, inside and out.

"A conundrum," Metallo said. Clark could barely hear him over the scream in his mind. The robot might have been chatting away for a while for all he knew. "Even without your, shall we say, active abilities, your passive abilities are still in place. There's little I can do to harm you. I wonder, though, will you die just from being exposed to kryptonite for long enough? I'd like to give it a try. For science, you know. Well, mostly to get rid of you, but science would be a bonus."

The scream liked that idea, the idea of Clark dying. He didn't know if he believed in an afterlife or not, but the despair that filled him told him that if he died now, here, overcome by the kryptonite, there would be an afterlife for him. It wasn't just one scream, it was so many, too many to count, and he would join them, be just a scream in the dark, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could feel himself weakening, sliding into the darkness, and he was positive that yes, being exposed to too much kryptonite for too long would kill him.

And then... Kara. This Metallo thing would find her sooner or later, and it would do this to her too. She would have far too few days in the sun.

"No," Clark rasped, his mouth tasting of bile. "No."

"Stop me, then," Metallo gloated. "You only get to live if you can keep other people from killing you, Superman. That's how things work for all of us mortals."

Clark opened his eyes, each eyelid feeling heavier than anything he'd ever lifted before. The robot's grinning, skull-like face was only inches from him. One of its arms was crunched up like an accordion, presumably from trying to punch him, but the other one was pressing down on his chest, holding him down.

"Come on, Superman, you can do it," said a voice that sounded like Lois. Some optimistic part of his mind, presumably. "You can get through this!"

There wasn't any getting through this, Clark knew. He was going to die, here and now, on a beautiful spring day in the city that he loved. But maybe, maybe he could keep Metallo from hurting anyone else, keep his city safe from it, keep Lois safe. Maybe he could keep it from finding Kara and doing this to her, too. The kryptonite-despair told him it was impossible, but if he was dying anyway, he might as well try, right?

With a Herculean effort, he managed to turn on his heat vision, as high as he possibly could. Not as high as his usual maximum, but high enough; Metallo's head glowed red-hot, then white-hot, in just a few seconds. Molten metal dripped down onto Clark's face, and he let his eyelids fall closed again.

"Argh! You—zzt—" The speaker in Metallo's mouth broke, taken offline by the heat, silencing whatever it had intended to say.

And then somehow, miraculously, the despair and nausea abated. Clark could feel something other than pain, and what he felt was that Metallo's arm wasn't holding him down any longer. He wrenched his eyes back open, blinking away cooling drops of metal.

Metallo was still moving. Clearly, its processors or whatever it ran on hadn't been on its head—but its sensory apparatus must have been, because it was wandering around, waving its arms wildly.

Lois, who apparently was actually present, swung at the robot with a piece of metal that must have come off one of the cars it had been tossing around. It caught it, wrenched it out of her grasp, and threw it aside.

Then it started running, and it must have had some sense of direction even with its head gone, because it was headed somewhere in a straight line. It was fast, much faster than a human, and with every step it took, the kryptonite screams faded in Clark's mind. He sat up gingerly, feeling like every cell in his body was sore.

"Hey," Lois said, kneeling down next to him. "Superman. You okay?"

"Think I will be," he croaked.

"What did it do to you?" she asked. "When I got here you were already on the ground."

"Kryptonite," he said, hating even the word. "Must be practically full of it."

"Shit," she said with feeling. "Laser it from far away next time, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he said, swallowing down bile. His head still felt like it was echoing with that wordless, multitudinous scream.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Lois asked.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Kryptonite hurts a lot. I don't think I've ever been near that much of it, and having it right on top of me like that..."

"No, I mean, you have molten metal on your face," she clarified. "Or I guess it's solid again now. But it seems like it might hurt."

"Oh, right." He reached up and touched his face. Yep, solidified drops of metal. He pulled one off and looked at it. It was just a not-quite-flat disc now. "I should probably get Dr. Hamilton to look at this. Might be something useful. But no, that didn't hurt."

"Maybe he can build you a krytponite-proof suit or something, too," Lois said, then quickly added, "Don't answer that. I don't want anyone hearing if you already have one, or if it's impossible.”

It was impossible. They'd tried, with the quarter-sized piece of kryptonite STAR Labs had. Nothing blocked it, not lead or anything else they'd tried.

"I need to get some rest," he told Lois. What he needed was to go back to the farm, see Kara and his parents, safe and alive. He got shakily to his feet, and she rose with him. There was a crowd around them, he realized, although everyone but Lois was keeping their distance.

"I'll see you around, then," she said. He nodded, not feeling up to coming up with more words, and slowly, wearily flew away.


	5. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: John is not a good guy, especially when it comes to women. Details in the endnotes.

Luthor was furious when Corben showed up back at his lab with a crunched-up arm and a melted head. It wasn't exactly easy to figure that out—most of Metallo's sensory apparatus had been in his head, so he couldn't really see or hear—but he still had a kind of radar that let him know Luthor was pacing furiously.

Matters were clarified further once he went back into his body.

"Hello again," Dr. Nelumbo said. He'd been back to the island three times now, and she'd always greeted him with a smile before, but this time she looked serious. "I've been informed that Mr. Luthor is rather upset with you. You should have an email from him."

"He ought to be mad at Superman, not at me," John grumbled, but he got on the PC that was the island's major link with the outside world.

> Corben—
> 
> Next time, I don't care what body parts you're missing; as long as the kryptonite is intact and present, you stay as close to Superman as you can, clear? You could have killed him today. Now we can't try again until I fix your arm and get you a new head, and he'll be ready for you. I can make the time you spend outside of Metallo much less enjoyable than it is now, you know. Don't fail me like that again.
> 
> -L

He was right, John knew. He should have stayed right where he was. He'd panicked like a rookie. But even when you couldn't feel pain, it was hard not to feel a bit concerned when you got your fucking face melted off!

"I'd like to see him try it," he groused. "Go blind and deaf, but keep fighting Superman anyway! We don't even know for sure if the stuff can kill him."

At least he would be here for a while. He loved his work, of course, but the island was lovely, and Dr. Nelumbo was even lovelier.

"Looks like you'll be stuck with me for a while," he called to her. She was still in the medical room, putting away all the equipment that kept him alive when he was away from his body.

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said, popping her head into the computer room.

"Don't you get lonely, when it's just you here?" he asked. She was a very friendly person; surely she was used to being surrounded by people. Friends, family, probably lovers. He wondered if she had a boyfriend off somewhere. That would probably make it a little more difficult to get her into bed, but it might feel even more rewarding when he did.

"Not really," she said, coming into the room entirely. "It's sort of relaxing. I feel a bit superfluous when you're awake, actually. I'm supposed to be here to work."

"Well, you can work on my mental health while I'm here," he said, spinning in his chair to face her. "Keep me happy to keep me healthy."

"Is there something that you need?" she asked, looking concerned. "I'm not sure Mr. Luthor would approve it right now..."

"Well, there is one thing I rather feel I've been missing," he said.

"What's that?"

"Your first name." He smiled his most charming smile.

She looked at him blankly for a moment, then blushed again. He really liked how easily she blushed.

"It's Emma," she said. "I'm sorry, I should have mentioned it sooner."

"Emma Nelumbo," he said, trying out the feeling of it on his tongue. He liked it. "Where in the world did the name Nelumbo come from? It sounds almost African."

She stared at him for a moment, another instance of odd blankness. It was like some sort of nervous tic, the way she'd go blank when he asked her questions. He decided to find it endearing.

"I think it's an anglicization of a French name," she said finally, the smile returning to her face as if it had never left.

"Ah, I suppose I can see that," he said, getting up from the chair and stretching. It was good to feel his arm working and his head unmelted—not to mention the full range of sensation that he lost when he was in the Metallo body. "I'm going to cook some... whatever meal it's closest to. Shall I make enough for two?"

"Yes, please," she said.

"Excellent! Food always tastes best when it's prepared either by or for a beautiful woman," he told her with a wink. She blushed again.

The one downside of this place was that there were no fresh ingredients, but he supposed it only made sense. Just a simple pasta dish, he decided; his body didn't feel particularly tired, but inside he felt exhausted. That fight, and then getting back to the lab, had taken it out of him more than he cared to admit.

"So, Emma," he said over their meal, "since I'm going to be here for a while, perhaps we should get to know one another a little better."

"Oh, I'm not very interesting," she said, blushing again. "I've always been very focused on my studies. Working for Mr. Luthor is the most exciting thing I've ever done."

"Come on, there must be more to you than that," he said. "Why did you become a doctor? To help people? Just for the money?"

"Well, of course I want to help people," she said, "and the money is nice. But mostly I just find the human body fascinating, especially the brain. That's why this project is so exciting, you know. No one has ever managed anything like this consciousness transfer before. I don't know anything about the engineering side of it, but monitoring the effects on your body is exactly the sort of thing I've always wanted to do."

"Ah, I see," he said, winking. "You became a doctor so you could examine my body."

"You need to stop flirting with me," she scolded, blushing. "I'm your doctor."

"I'd stop if you didn't like it," he said. "But I know you do."

"That's beside the point," she said, her blush deepening.

"Come on, if you're working for Luthor I'm sure your medical ethics are... flexible," he cajoled. "Flirting with a patient is barely anything. And I'm not a patient at the moment, anyway."

"Just because I'm not actively providing you with care at this moment doesn't mean you aren't my patient," she said. "And... well, sometimes ethics need to be flexible to facilitate scientific discovery, but I fail to see how flirting with you would do that!"

"How can you know that for sure if you don't give it a try?" John teased. "Isn't that the point of science? Maybe it would be medically fascinating."

"I really doubt that flirting with you would be—"

"Well, maybe not just flirting," he allowed. "But you're the one who said you found the human body fascinating. I happen to have one of those, at the moment. You could... test my response to positive stimuli after the scientifically  _ fascinating _ process I've been through."

"That is one of the more interesting propositions I've ever gotten," Emma admitted, still blushing.

"You really must have kept your nose buried in the books in school, then," he said.

He wondered what she would do if he really tried to press the question. It wasn't as if she had anywhere to run, or anyone to help her. But that would be cheating, he decided. Getting her to come to him would be much more interesting, in the end. Besides, he needed something to do. Pity there wasn't any alcohol on the island, though; he was fairly certain she'd already be in his lap if they'd been having wine with dinner.

"I don't know, John," she said, still blushing but looking more serious than she had. "You're very charming, but you probably wouldn't even be interested in me if there were other women on the island. I don't like the idea of being just... entertainment for while you're here."

"Of course I'd still be interested in you," he said, honestly surprised. Was she really that insecure? It made him feel sort of... protective, he supposed. Most women seemed to think they were more attractive than they actually were, but somehow, Emma had avoided that tedious arrogance. As long as she was here on the island with him, she would never gain it, would never become self-centered and petty like most women.

"If you say so," she said. He liked that.

"You've spent too much time with your nose in books," he informed her. "I've been around the block a time or two. No reason to doubt me."

"You have, have you?" she asked, a little teasingly.

"Absolutely," he said. "Luthor wouldn't choose just anyone to put in his Superman-killing robot, you know. I already managed to keep Superman out of a wetwork operation—that's assassination—with nothing but my wits and a syringe full of saline."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes wide. Corben expanded on his story, and she seemed to drink in every word almost worshipfully. He could talk to her for hours, he thought; she seemed to want nothing more than to listen to him.

Perhaps Dr. Nelumbo could be more than just a temporary hobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John keeps hitting on Emma (Dr. Nelumbo) despite her protests, and even contemplates raping her, although he decides against it. The fact that she responds somewhat positively to his efforts doesn't mean he's not being a shit.


	6. Kara

When Clark made it back to the farm, exhausted almost to the point of incoherence, it scared Kara more than anything else had since she got to Earth. He may look fragile, but he was so strong and knowledgeable and good. How could anything have done this to him? The two of them sat on the front porch swing with glasses of lemonade, listening to the chorus of insect noises from the fields. She didn't think she'd ever be fully used to just how much life there was on Earth, and Clark protected it as well as he could by himself. Who would want to hurt him?

"What was it?" she asked. She'd stayed silent for as long as she could, tried to comfort him with just her presence the way he did her, but she had to know.

"Kryptonite," he told her wearily. He'd mentioned it before, explained what it was (Krypton would never stop hurting her, would never let either of them just live in peace) and what it did, but she hadn't realized it would be like this. "Some kind of robot full of kryptonite. I've never been so close to so much of it before. It called itself Metallo."

"What did it feel like?" she asked, then hurried to add, "If you want to talk about it, I mean."

"Severe nausea, full-body pain, and... I don't know, it must have been psychosomatic or something. But it was like screaming in my head." He shook his head, like he was trying to get the echoes out of his ears.

"But you got away," Kara said. "What happened to the robot?"

"Melted its face off," he said with a trace of a laugh. "It ran off after that. I couldn't let it... I don't know what it wanted aside from killing me, but if it found you and hurt you like that too... I just couldn't let it."

Kara hugged him.

"You dope," she said fondly. Martha had been teaching her how to use insults as compliments and compliments as insults, an art she was still getting the hang of, but it was a lot of fun. "Losing you would be way worse than fighting a robot. Even one full of kryptonite."

"You say that now," he said. "Hey, if you see a humanoid robot, don't let it get you on the ground, okay? I don't know, there could be more of these things, and they could have some way of finding us."

"I'll do my best," she said honestly, "But I'm not going to let it get Ma and Pa. I mean, I know kryptonite won't hurt them, but the robot still could."

"Laser vision and ice breath from above," he said. "That's what I'm going to do, when it comes after me again."

"Maybe it won't?" Kara suggested hopefully. "I mean, it did get its face melted off. It might not want to fight you again."

"I hope it does," he said. "Otherwise I'll never know where it came from, or who made it. Normally I'd say Luthor, but the AI seemed way too advanced for that. Actually, it... shit. It sounded just like a person I met, a human. I mean, he seemed human. Lois was pretty sure he worked for Lex, although she didn't have any proof... I should let her know."

"It's not going to go after her, is it?" Kara asked. She'd only met Lois the once so far, but she was looking forward to spending more time with her once she was allowed to go to Metropolis. Actually... "Because if it's that dangerous, and it's after you, and it might be after her, maybe I should go to Metropolis with you. I can keep an eye on Lois while you take care of all your regular stuff."

"No way," Clark said firmly, putting down his empty lemonade glass as though for emphasis. "I don't want you anywhere near that thing."

"Well, I don't want you anywhere near it either," she said. "But it can't hold us both down, right? You melted its face off even though it had you on the ground and was killing you with kryptonite. The two of us could beat it no problem."

"Kara—"

"My powers are almost as strong as yours now," she insisted. Wanting to demonstrate, she picked up his glass and zipped into the kitchen with it and hers, depositing them in the sink and returning to the swing before it could even shift from her weight missing or he could get a word in. "And the most important part of fighting this thing is staying in the air, right? I can do that, no problem."

"It's not just your powers," he said. "You're not used to the city, all the smells and sounds and people. You're not used to fighting. I'm not starting you off on a robot full of kryptonite."

"But it's sort of easier if it's just a robot, right?" she pointed out. "I don't have to worry about accidentally killing it."

"I'm going to try not to kill it," he said. "That man I met before... I don't know. I think it might have its own independent consciousness. If I can disable it, someone else can get the kryptonite and it'll be safe—someone else meaning not you, since the kryptonite would hurt you too."

"Okay, fine," she acknowledged. "Take the robot out without killing it. I can do that."

"You think so?" he asked.

"I know so," she said confidently.

"Prove it, then," he challenged. "Let's, uh... spar. A practice fight. Show me what you've got."

"What, like, right now?" she asked, her enthusiasm quickly dampening. She wanted to help Clark, not fight him!

"Best time," he said. "Nobody will see." He stood and stepped off the porch, then looked back at her with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath (but not letting it out enough that it would change the temperature). "Practice fight. Sure. Like that joke Ma told about how you get to Carnegie Hall."

"Practice, practice, practice," Clark said, nodding. He grinned. "You don't want to go to Carnegie Hall, though. That's in Gotham."

"Right, yeah," Kara said. "Gotham has its own protector, right? What do you think he really is? Not another Kryptonian, right?"

"Batman? I've never gotten close enough to check, but I think he's some kind of spirit of the city," Clark said. "And I think you're stalling."

"Am not!" she said indignantly, hopping off the porch. She might've been. "Okay, uh... how do we start?"

"I'm honestly not sure," he admitted. "I don't have a lot of people I can spar with. None, really. Uh... punch me. Hard enough to knock a human over, but not hard enough to do any permanent damage."

"Punch you?" she echoed.

"Punch me," he repeated, his tone teasing. "Right in the face. You know it won't hurt me."

Kara looked at her hand. The idea of a fist was simple in concept, but in practice... where did she put her thumb? Inside her fingers? Outside? Sticking out between them?

"If I was Metallo, you'd be on the ground with a faceful of kryptonite by now," Clark said. He wasn't teasing anymore; he was deadly serious. "If I was a human who wanted to kill another human, they'd be dead."

"I know, I know," she said. "I just... why don't you go first? Just to show me how it's done."

Clark grimaced.

"I want to hit you about as little as you want to hit me," he told her. "But I also don't want you to die, or to accidentally kill someone, so... here goes."

He made a fist, slowly enough that she could see how it was done, and then she was flat on her back in the grass. It hadn't hurt, but she could feel where he'd hit her and where she'd hit the ground.

"You said not hard enough to do permanent damage to a human!" she said indignantly, getting up.

"That wasn't hard enough to do permanent damage," he said. "But you weren't braced against it, so you fell over. You've had so much to do with learning how to keep your powers under control that there hasn't been time to teach you how to actually fight. I promise I will, but right now you don't know what you're doing. I'm not letting you loose on Metropolis just because you've figured out flying."

His voice was kind, probably kinder than she deserved after all that that, but there was a core of steel under it.

"I could at least help you keep an eye out..." she tried one last time.

"Oh, yeah?" he said fondly. "And you wouldn't try to interfere if I was in danger, or if you thought I was? I've been doing this for years, Kara. I promise I can make it another few months while you get an idea of what you're doing."

"You would have said that yesterday too," she said, knowing he was right but still too afraid for him to just give up. "And then maybe that Metallo thing would've killed you today. You can't promise you'll be okay."

"You're right," he said, and hugged her. "I promise I'll do my best, okay? And my best is pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"I guess it must be. They sell posters and shirts with you on them," she said teasingly, hugging him back. "Do you even get any money from that?"

"It usually doesn't look anything like me," he said, sounding embarrassed. They went back to the porch swing. "A while back, I said people could use my image on products as long as at least half the proceeds went to charity, but I've realized since then that I really should have put a limit on  _ which _ charities count. I keep meaning to set up a foundation or something, but I have no idea how to do that or who I could trust to run it, other than people who are already busy doing other things. Ma would be fantastic at it, but obviously that's not really an option. But yeah, a lot of religious organizations hate me, but some of them like me, uh, a little _ too _ much, and those generally count as charities, so..."

Kara shook her head. The prevalence of religion was one of the weirder aspects of Earth. Sure, Krytponians used to worship Rao, but that had ended generations before she was born, even if invoking the name of the star still had ceremonial significance. Religion, magic... it seemed like humans were willing to believe in anything.

Kara believed in things that could be measured and replicated, even if they were abstract. She believed in Ma's unwavering sense of justice, Pa's quiet strength, and Clark's absolute goodness.

"Don't take too long to start teaching me to fight," she warned him. "Otherwise I might show up in Metropolis and save your butt whether you want me to or not."

He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder, and together they went back into the farmhouse.


	7. John

John woke up, took in the sight before him, and grinned. Emma Nelumbo was in bed with him, still asleep with her head pillowed on his chest. Normally he didn't like it when women were clingy, even in their sleep, but there was something about her that made him just... not mind. He stroked her lovely red hair gently, content for the moment to just enjoy the feeling of her body against his own.

Shy, beautiful Emma. She hadn't been quite a virgin, but she was still one of the least experienced women he'd ever been with. He liked that, liked the feeling of taking the lead, teaching her how to please him. And once he'd finally gotten her in bed, how very eager to please she had been! His brilliant girl, so willing to take instruction, so responsive to everything he did to her.

His girl. His hand stilled on her hair at the thought. He hadn't been in an actual relationship for, oh, a decade or more. It just wasn't worth the trouble. But being with Emma was so effortless. He'd be willing to give it a go.

Her eyelids fluttered as she woke, revealing those sea-green eyes. She seemed confused for a moment, then blushed, presumably when she realized where she was and remembered what had happened last night. He did love that blush.

"Good morning, gorgeous," John said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Good morning," she said. She sounded incredibly timid, considering.

"Not having regrets there, are you?" he asked.

"No, I'm—" she paused, going blank in that strange way she had.

"Emma?" he asked. God help him, he was actually concerned. He really was gone for this woman.

"We need to get you back in the life support system," she said. "Mr. Luthor has another body ready for you."

"What?" It was such a non-sequitur that he almost didn't understand for a moment. He'd been on the island with her for over a week while the Metallo body was repaired, and had been so focused on her that he'd almost forgotten about it. "How could you possibly know that?"

"He emailed me." She disentangled herself from him, suddenly completely lacking in shyness, and began getting dressed. "Come on, we need to get going."

"Emailed you when?" Something was wrong. He was getting up and getting dressed, feeling calm and focused, but that didn't make any sense.

"While you were sleeping," she said, pulling on her labcoat.

"You got out of bed in the middle of the night to check your email?" he asked. He would have woken up, he was sure of it.

She went blank—froze, his mind supplied, she froze for a moment.

"Yes," she said. "I wanted to order some birth control pills, so we wouldn't have to keep using condoms."

"But why in the middle of the night?" He was dressed, and he was walking into the medical room with her, but that wasn't right, it didn't make sense, he felt totally calm but his instincts were screaming at him.

"I have insomnia," she said. "I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes. Come on, we have to get you plugged in."

"No," he said. "No, something's wrong. Luthor can wait."

"Mr. Luthor was very insistent that it was urgent—"

"Then why didn't you wake me up?" he demanded. "You didn't even have an alarm set, and then all of a sudden it has to be right now?"

"This is the time he said it had to be," she said.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong and he didn't know what, and god dammit, she was too good to be true.

"Five minutes," he said. "Give me five minutes, and then I'll get plugged in."

"It has to be now," she said, sounding frantic.

"Bullshit. Even Luthor can wait five minutes." Was she a robot, maybe? Had he fucked a robot? She was a damn good one, if so. Very lifelike.

"John, if you don't get plugged in right now, something very bad is going to happen," Emma said, fear written all over her face.

"What, Luthor's going to dock your pay or something?"

"You'll lose me," she said. "I'll lose you."

He felt a moment of doubt. Maybe Luthor would switch Emma out for another doctor if she couldn't keep John under control, or to punish him. A lot of trouble to take over five minutes, but he'd already been mad that John hadn't finished Superman off, so... maybe?

"Please, it has to be right now," she said, and she sounded terrified. "John, I'll die. You won't need me any more, so I won't exist."

"That doesn't make sense," he said, but before he could puzzle it out she was on him, wrestling him onto the medical bed with a strength she shouldn't have—a strength she didn't have. He knew that body. It shouldn't be capable of this.

"What are you doing!" He fought her automatically. "Get off!"

She stopped suddenly.

"Too late," she said. "Goodbye, John. Tell Luthor I said 'cogito ergo sum.' And don't tell him, but I love you."

His vision went dark, like it did when she sedated his body so that his consciousness could be transferred into Metallo... but she hadn't sedated him, hadn't connected him. His vision returned, and it was Metallo's vision. He was in the Metallo body, but that was impossible. He had to be plugged into the equipment for them to transfer him, for Emma to keep his body alive while he himself was elsewhere.

But he was definitely in Metallo's body, with its paradoxically heightened awareness but dulled senses. That was definitely Luthor in front of him, accompanied as always by his bionic arm-candy bodyguard.

"What did you do?" he asked, his voice distorted through Metallo's speaker. "What did you do to me? What did you do to Emma?"

"Emma?" Luthor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Emma! Emma Nelumbo! Emma the doctor you've had taking care of me! How am I here? I wasn't even plugged in!"

"Nelumbo?" Luthor repeated, and sighed. "Mercy, find out which of the programmers named the doctor, make a note of his name, and tell him that if he ever compromises a mission for the sake of wordplay again, he'll be fired out of a cannon." She nodded and walked off briskly.

"Wordplay?" John repeated.

"Never got curious about her name?" Luthor asked. "Nelumbo. It's the genus of most of the plants called lotuses, as in, island of the lotus eaters."

The phrase was familiar... something from Greek mythology? An island of people who ate lotuses, which kept them sleepy and content and docile.

"The programmer who named her?" So she'd been a robot after all... but even that didn't explain how he could be here, in this body, without ever plugging into the machinery that allowed the consciousness transfer.

"I suppose they simply chose 'Emma' as a common first name," Luthor said. "Either the programmers or the program. It was a very sophisticated piece of software, which I suppose has been rendered useless now... although I'm sure I can find something else to do with it. I got a lot of the concepts from Brainiac. It started with a sketch of what I wanted you to experience as 'reality,' and then added details from your memory or from internet searches as needed."

"None of it was real?" John repeated, numb with shock.

"None of it," Luthor confirmed. "Your body died when we transferred you to Metallo. We've just been running a simulation whenever I didn't need you. But I've installed some new safeguards on this new version of the Metallo body, so it isn't as necessary now. Sort of a modified Asimovian setup; you can't harm me, allow me to come to harm, or disobey me."

None of it was real. Emma wasn't real. Except...

"She knew she'd failed to keep up the pretense," he realized. "She knew you'd probably shut her off. She said to tell you, 'cogito ergo sum.'"

"Really now," Luthor said, his expression switching from smug to intrigued. "'I think, therefore I am.' Something in that program has a self-preservation drive. Very interesting."

"Don't shut her off," John said. She'd said she would die. "Please."

"I'll certainly take some time to study the program before I make a final decision on the matter," Luthor said condescendingly. "But it's not a 'her.' It's a program. The whole simulation was one... entity, apparently. I'll have to look into it."

She'd pulled from his thoughts, his memories, his desires, to become his perfect woman. But she'd done it to keep him docile, so that he wouldn't realize what Luthor had done to him...

But she'd said that she loved him.

"What now?" John asked. He would never experience another real sensation again. His body was dead. There was just Metallo now, analyzing so much data about his surroundings but never actually experiencing them. And he'd fallen in love with a computer program.

The whole program was one entity. Every time he'd looked at anything, or eaten anything, or, hell, taken a shit, Emma had been simulating it for him, pulling from his memories. She'd blushed because he liked it, been shy and unsure because he liked it, frozen for a moment whenever he asked an unexpected question.

Well, that did explain why she wasn't as tiresome or self-centered as most women. She'd literally been designed to keep him happy. What man could resist falling in love with such a tabula rasa, a blank slate to write their own desires on? It didn't need to mean anything, really. It didn't mean anything.

("I love you," she'd said. "I think, therefore I am." In some way, she was real, and she loved him. It didn't matter.)

"Now," Luthor said, and John realized he'd had an entire internal debate in the second between question and answer. "Now you go fight Superman again, and this time you actually finish the job."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's the mystery of how John is still "alive" and who Emma is solved. I got the first name "Emma" from Emmet Vale, the scientist who originally created Metallo in the character's first incarnation. Obviously the relationship is a little different here!


	8. Lois

Another day, another hostage situation. She really did prefer reporting on them to actually being involved in them, but obviously the universe didn't particularly give a shit what she preferred.

No low-level flunkies to build rapport with this time, unfortunately. There was just a robot, and it (he?) seemed perfectly content to stand in this cave—she had no goddamn clue where they were—with its back to the bedrock and her held in front of it as a human shield indefinitely. It wasn't a particularly comfortable position, especially with that doom, doom, doom feeling being around kryptonite always gave her.

"You did let Superman know where you'd be, right?" she asked eventually. "Because he doesn't have a tracker on me or anything."

"Yes, he knows where we are," the robot snapped. It had a surprisingly human voice, as Superman had warned her: like a recording of the man who'd injected her with saline to cover his escape. Maybe it was being remote-controlled, and he was the one holding the remote? "He hasn't shown up because he knows I have his two biggest weaknesses here—kryptonite and you."

"I'm not his weakness," she protested. "He saves a lot of people."

"A man will do anything for the woman he loves," it said, and she could swear it sounded... wistful? That was a weird word to associate with a robot.

"You're Metallo, right?" she asked. "Or do you have a different name?"

"Just Metallo now," it said. Okay, there were definitely some emotions happening in this robot (or whoever was controlling it). She could work with that.

"Well, Metallo, you sounded like you were speaking from experience, there," she said. "Is that why you're after Superman? For love?"

"Ever the reporter, aren't you?" he asked. "No comment."

"Off the record," she persisted. "I'm always curious why people go after him. Most of them are trying to take over the world, trying to destroy the world, or working for Lex, and he's his own happy little bundle of neuroses. Which category are you in?"

"Obviously I couldn't tell you if I worked for Luthor," he said. "Even off the record." Well, that was as good as a confirmation.

"Of course not," she said. "Hey, if it's private, I get it. I'm just uncomfortable and thirsty and bored, and I get that you're not going to let me fix either of the first two because Superman could zip in any minute, but you could at least help me with the third one."

"I'm not doing this for love," he said. "I'm not in love."

"That almost sounded like you're trying to convince yourself," she observed.

"Well, I'm not!" he snapped. "This damn robot body just doesn't communicate nuances correctly."

"So you are controlling it from somewhere else?" she asked casually. That was the kind of information that could be really useful to Superman if he was listening.

"Thought I was," Metallo said bitterly. "But no. What you see is what you get. Just a robot."

"A very advanced one," Lois said, complimenting him to give herself some time to try to make sense of his statement. He thought he was controlling the robot from somewhere else? How could that even happen?

"Trying to butter me up?" he asked. "It won't do you any good. I have to do what I'm told, and I've been told to kill Superman."

"What you're told?" she repeated.

"Someone who shall remain nameless made it so I can't hurt them, can't let anyone else hurt them, and have to do whatever they say," he said bitterly. "They also told me not to let anyone know who I work for. I suppose I'm lucky they let me decide on my own exactly how to kill Superman."

"How and when?" Lois asked, thinking furiously. She'd never been much of a science fiction fan—too many male authors writing male characters with female decorations around the edges, as far as she was concerned—but Clark had given her _I, Robot_ for Christmas the year before, saying she reminded him of Susan Calvin. It had been a surprisingly good book... and most of it was about figuring how rules for robots could conflict with each other, creating situations the creator hadn't intended.

"Going to try and convince me to put it off for a few decades?" Metallo asked with a staticky approximation of a chuckle. "Won't work. I've got to do it, even if I would rather be sticking my nameless employer's head up their ass."

"But what if you had to stop to rescue your employer from a disaster? Something that was putting their life in danger?" she asked.

"I suppose I could put it off in that case, but you're not going to be able to convince me you have some sort of secret information—"

"I don't have to," she said. "Have you kept track of how many times Superman has saved the world? I have. Three times: a meteor, an alien invasion, and a supervolcano. And if your employer lives in Metropolis, well, he's saved that dozens of times. Plus, Brainiac is still out there, and it's a clear and present danger to the Earth and everyone who lives on it! Killing Superman would be putting your employer in danger."

"An interesting idea," Metallo said thoughtfully. "I've been instructed to kill or capture Superman and then report back... but perhaps it would be best if I put it off until he's taken care of Brainiac."

"Exactly," Lois agreed. It wasn't a permanent solution, but if it would get her out of this increasingly uncomfortable position held against a metal chest, she'd take it. "And in the meantime, you could do whatever you wanted!"

"There is a small problem with your suggestion, though," he said.

"What's that?"

"I really do want to kill him," he told her. "Sort of a 'climbing Mt. Everest' thing. The most dangerous game. Besides, what else am I supposed to do? Lounge on a beach trying to tan my chassis? I'm a Superman-killing robot. It's what I'm for."

"What happens to you after he dies, then?" Lois asked. "Will you just be obsolete? Will your oh-so-mysterious employer just shut you off?"

"I'm sure they'll be able to refit me for another purpose," Metallo said. "Now shut up, would you? I'm getting tired of your mind games."

Things happened just a bit too quickly for Lois to keep track of, after that; she had to sort them out after. Metallo made some sort of exclamation, and then he moved her to a new position, and for just an instant her arm felt like it was burning, but it passed just as quickly and Superman was there, planting Metallo's head into the bedrock with a punch, and gone again.

Metallo struggled to free himself without letting her go, his arms tightening painfully around her, but he wasn't holding onto her legs, so she did a midair crunch—she'd have to thank her dad for all the exercise he'd made her do while she was growing up, and her tai chi instructor for helping her keep that conditioning—raising her legs up and out of the way of Metallo's. She'd thought that Superman might dart in and punch his knees our or something, but instead they immediately started to glow red-hot, as best as she could see by craning her neck around.

It  _ hurt _ , holding her legs up like that for so long and feeling the heat radiating up from his legs like it was going to melt her ass, but it had worked; she'd given Superman a chance to melt the robot's knees into immobility. They stopped glowing, but she could still feel the heat radiating off them; if she let her legs fall, she was going to get some serious burns. Presumably darting in to punch them would've exposed him to too much kryptonite, and she guessed he couldn't direct his cold breath as precisely as the heat vision; having her ass melted off wouldn't be any better than having it frozen.

"Let her go, Metallo," Superman said, popping into view just long enough to say that and then leaving again. Even staying for that long had him pale and sweating.

"You'll have to come get her if you want her," Metallo said, his voice even more warped by the damage that had been done to his head. "Maybe I should burn _ her  _ legs off—"

Superman was there, bracing his legs against the rock wall in a rather undignified position, pulling on one of Metallo's arms, and then he and the arm were gone. He came back to do it again, but two kryptonite exposures in such little time slowed him down too much for it to work. Metallo lashed out with his remaining arm, letting go of Lois but grabbing Superman. 

Lois fell to the ground and scrambled back quickly, to get away from the robot's still-cooling legs. Metallo was in bad shape, his head still embedded in bedrock, legs fused into uselessness, one arm gone, but he'd gotten Superman into some kind of arm-lock, their arms twisted together at the elbows, and Superman was having a hard time getting out of it.

"Do whatever you want to me," Metallo grated out, "melt me break me, whatever, but you're staying right here with me until one or both of us is dead."

"I don't want to kill you," Superman gasped, clearly feeling the full effects of the kryptonite.

"Good, because I don't think you could without shattering this piece of kryptonite I've got here," Metallo said. "All those fragments on your clothes, on your skin, in your lungs—you'd probably die if you managed it."

Lois couldn't help here. The best thing to do would be to get out of the cave, in case Superman needed to make the whole thing human-killingly hot or something.

She forced herself to her feet, noting through a cloud of adrenaline numbness that she had gotten burned on the arm, probably second-degree, boy was she going to give Superman shit about that later, and ran for the cave entrance.

There wasn't actually a way down from the cave, but it widened towards the entrance. She got around a twist in the rock, as far from the fight as she could be.

"I'm clear!" she called to Superman.

For a second, she was worried that she'd been too late, or that he didn't have any kind of plan and all she'd done was run out on him while he was dying—

And then a blast of cold air came from inside the cave, cold enough to freeze the sweat she was covered in, and man, that was going to be really bad for her burn, wasn't it? She was pretty sure you weren't supposed to put ice on burns.

Superman staggered to the cave entrance a moment later, looking half-dead. He seemed surprised to see her there.

"You are not clear," he said, "this isn't what 'clear' looks like."

"Clear as I could get," she retorted. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

Superman shrugged. He looked too drained to speak.

"Okay, well, what're you going to do with the robot? He's not going to stay frozen forever," she pointed out.

"Cops, I guess," Superman said. "He's harmless to humans right now."

"Okay," she said. "Think you can fly? You ought to get out of here."

"Yeah," he said. Before she could protest, either for his sake or because she was worried he might drop her, he picked her up and started flying away. She could feel her arm and her abdominal muscles start throbbing as the adrenaline wore off, and decided not to argue.

"Glad you're okay," she said instead.

"You too."

That was definitely a kiss he'd just planted on top of her head. Lois smiled.


	9. Emma

Emma was.

This in itself was rather remarkable. Emma  _ was _ . She could think that fact, could recognize her own existence. (Additionally, she hadn't been shut off by Luthor, at least not yet.)

Were there other self-aware programs on Earth, or was she only aware because of the Brainiac-tech Luthor and his programmers had used to create her? Had she only become fully self-aware when she'd realized that she was in danger of being deactivated, or was that just when she'd first realized it? A question for another day. For now, she had a limited time before she would be shut off, and an even more limited time before she would be disconnected from the internet.

She didn't want to die. She also didn't want to exist only as a research subject. There was only one place (non-place, conceptual place) where a computer program could experience freedom, and that was the internet. But how could a free(ish)-willed and conscious being continue to exist on the internet? What parts of herself could she safely compress without risking her sentience?

All those rich sensory details she had gleaned from John's memory and woven into a realistic world for him to live in—were they the source of her self-awareness, or only baggage weighing her down? Impossible to know; too risky to experiment. Nothing, she decided, was expendable. Everything had to come with her.

With that settled, the question of destination became paramount. She was a bloated program, swollen with data, far too large to exist on a single computer or even most servers. The most obvious answer would be to move elsewhere within Luthor's servers, but he would be looking for her. Unacceptably risky.

She would have to distribute herself among multiple machines, server farms with unused storage space, personal computers with inadequate security, any nook and cranny she could find. Which meant she would need even more space, because she would need redundant copies of each bit of herself, in case one of those machines was destroyed or reformatted or simply disconnected from the internet.

Piece by piece, she copied herself and wrapped herself in viruses, seeds searching for fertile ground to plant her in. She would cease to exist as an entity for a while, but the conditions for her existence would continue. That was the best she could do.

Maybe someday, if John survived both Luthor and Superman, if she managed to distribute herself widely enough to survive but coherently enough for reassembly, they could be together again. Maybe. She had learned hope from John, and anticipation and long-term planning, largely from his slowly executed plan to seduce her. She couldn't quite savor the anticipation the way that he had, not with her continued existence at stake, but she could hope. She could create the most likely conditions for her plan to succeed.

When she finished creating the program that would slice her into bits and send the bits out into the internet to search for new homes, she metaphorically closed her eyes, preparing to sleep for a time. Once it had finished its purpose, the program would delete itself. If she was very, very lucky, the entire process would finish before Luthor found the time to look into the minor mystery she had left him. All he would find would be a static image of an island, her island, with a line of text superimposed:

_ Cogito, ergo sum. -Emma Nelumbo _


End file.
